The Return to Hogwarts

"When can we set off, Amosta? I can't wait to go on an adventure! Oh, this feeling is really great, it reminds me of the adventures I had with Jaime and Remus in the Forbidden Forest!"

Amosta, covered in dust, poked his head out of the cabin, looking annoyed.

"If you're willing to come in and help me out, we can leave sooner!"

"Oh--"

Sirius Black spread his hands, looking completely innocent.

"I'm not very good at preparations; that used to be Peter's job—"

Chapter 422 Another Unpleasant Summer Vacation

2023-08-16

As evening fell, the afterglow of the setting sun crossed the mountains and sea, casting its light on the white walls of No. 4 Privet Road, and through a second-floor window with its curtains drawn, illuminating the dimly lit room with a pinkish glow.

There was still some time before dinner. The neighbors on Privet Road were trimming their lawns and tending to their flowers in their yards. A few children were chasing each other on the fairly wide street, or perhaps chasing a stray cat that had wandered into the street. In the leisurely and pleasant air, they left behind a series of clear, bell-like laughs.

Harry peered through the gap in the curtains, expressionless, at the children who were laughing as much as they could under the watchful eyes of their parents. After a long while, he sighed deeply, collapsed onto the bed, and pulled the covers over his head.

The room, flushed with red, was a bit messy than usual, mainly because it contained many things that wouldn't be found in a normal Muggle child's room.

Beside the bed was a large, open wooden chest, revealing a cauldron, a flying broomstick, a black robe, and various spellbooks. On the table sat an empty birdcage, where Harry's white owl, Hedwig, usually perched. Several rolls of parchment were scattered haphazardly across the rest of the table. On the floor opposite the bed lay an open book, the one Harry had read before bed the previous night. The illustrations in the book were animated; young men in bright orange robes rode on flying broomsticks, whizzing around and tossing a red ball between them.

Yes, there is an apprentice wizard living in the house at number four Privet Drive. If the neighbors knew that the usually well-behaved Dursleys were hiding a freak, they would be astonished, and the owners of the house, the Dursleys, would surely be so ashamed that they would move out overnight.

Harry wouldn't care about such things; it's not like he wanted to come back here.

Nearly a month ago, Harry was forced to return to the Dursleys' house for the summer holidays. To be honest, this was probably the most unpleasant time of the year for him, and Harry couldn't say whether the situation this year had improved or gotten worse.

In the past, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Penny would never have allowed him to play with these 'magic tricks' in his room during the summer holidays.

As soon as they got home, they would pack up everything related to Hogwarts and lock it in a closet, only to reluctantly return it to him when school started again.

His current treatment was secured for him by Professor Blaine and Sirius, especially Sirius, whose conversation before the start of summer vacation changed the Dursleys considerably.

They did stop abusing him, at least materially.

Aunt Penny would no longer make him get up early to make breakfast for the whole family, or leave him to wash dishes alone in the kitchen while the Dursleys huddled on their nearly bursting sofa watching TV after lunch. Uncle Vernon would no longer yell at him to fix his hair every morning when he saw him, and Dudley would no longer hide at the corner of the stairs to sneak a foot out as he came down, just to see him make a fool of himself.

This summer, Harry had more free time than ever before.

He doesn't have to do any housework, but he can enjoy delicious food that even Dudley, who is on a diet, can't enjoy.

The only problem is that the Dursleys treat him as if he doesn't exist at all; in the past, they would only pretend he wasn't in their house in front of outsiders.

Throughout the entire summer vacation, they barely spoke a few words to him.

Aunt Petunia would collect his dirty clothes when he went out for a walk. When he didn't come downstairs at mealtimes, Uncle Vernon would come to his door with a plate, put down the food, knock on the door, and then leave. As for Dudley, basically as soon as Harry appeared in his sight, no matter what he had been making a fuss about, he would immediately quiet down and pretend that nothing had happened.

In the past, Harry would have been thrilled to be treated this way by the Dursleys. But now that he was actually enjoying this treatment, Harry had to admit he missed the old days a little; at least then, he felt like he existed.

He wrote to Ron and Hermione about it, and unsurprisingly, they were both extremely indignant. Ron replied that he would tell his father about the situation and have Mr. Weasley take him away from the Dursleys immediately.

Harry was tempted, but after careful consideration, he turned down Ron.

It's not that the Weasleys aren't good enough to him; if he had parents like Ron, Harry would give up everything for them. The problem is, he's not without family right now.

Sirius Black, his godfather, had told him before summer vacation that he would come to the Dursleys to pick him up as soon as possible after taking care of some matters. Harry thought it best not to leave on his own, and besides, he didn't want to hear Mrs. Weasley, who knew his situation, standing in the kitchen with her hands on her hips, complaining that Sirius hadn't fulfilled his duties.

Speaking of Sirius Black, another heavy sigh came from under the covers.

In the first few days of summer vacation, Sirius sent him two replies, telling him that he was dealing with some things with Professor Blaine and that if all went well, he would be back in two weeks at the latest. But after that, Sirius completely disappeared.

He had Hedwig deliver Sirius's letter, but Hedwig brought it all back, which meant that he hadn't found Sirius himself.

This was unusual. Hedwig was a very clever owl who always managed to get things done for Harry, and had never failed so many times before. This made Harry worry about the safety of Sirius and Professor Blaine.

Hermione suggested that Harry write a letter to Dumbledore explaining the situation, but Harry didn't do so. On one hand, he felt that perhaps Sirius and Professor Blaine had simply gone a little too far for Hedwig to find them, and on the other hand, Harry felt he was overreacting by writing to Professor Dumbledore about it.

On the other hand, Ron's view also makes some sense. If Professor Blaine and Sirius Black can't handle the problem together, then Professor Dumbledore might not be able to help much either.

boom!

The loud slamming of the door downstairs made Harry, who was listening intently to every sound in the house, jump out of bed immediately.

He rushed out of the room like the wind, took three steps at a time and went down the stairs into the quiet, silent first floor. Without even glancing at the steaming dinner on the dining table, he stood alone in the dimly lit living room.

Clearly, the Dursleys had gone out.

In the past, his family would often go out and leave him at home, but at least they would give him some warnings before leaving, such as not being allowed to turn on the TV without permission, not being allowed to steal food from the refrigerator, and not being allowed to enter their room. Finally, they would simply tell him what they were going to do. But now, they left without saying anything, although his dinner had been thoughtfully prepared.

Just then, Harry suddenly noticed a note left on the coffee table. With a quick leap, Harry jumped over the sofa and grabbed the note from the coffee table.

The above is a message left by Aunt Penny:

Maggie came to visit Dudley, and we invited her out for dinner. Considering you don't like her, we didn't invite you. Your dinner is on the table; leave the dirty dishes there, and we'll deal with them when we get back.

"Go to hell with you!"

Harry's face was ashen. He struggled to resist the urge to pull out his wand and burn the house to the ground. He crumpled the note into a ball and slammed it to the ground.

Chapter 423 Harry's Dream

2023-08-16

boom!

Five minutes later, Harry returned to his room. Facing the full-length mirror embedded in the wardrobe, he saw a dejected and dejected face.

Harry had to admit he had underestimated the situation.

He thought Sirius's warning would make things more comfortable for the Dursleys, so he didn't refuse when Sirius proposed the plan. Now it seems that Sirius's warning wasn't ineffective; in fact, it was surprisingly effective.

Harry kicked the box at the foot of the bed aside and buried his head in the blankets again.

He overestimated himself a bit, didn't he?

Harry had always hoped that he could live with the Dursleys without interfering with them, but when the day finally came, he realized that he would rather be scolded or something than spend the whole summer without anyone talking to him.

Suddenly, Harry started going berserk on the bed, pounding on the mattress and making strange noises.

The best solution would be for Sirius to appear immediately and take him out of the house. This would certainly solve the immediate problem, but there are still two summers to go. According to Sirius, he must return to the Dursleys' house for a period of time during the summers before graduating from Hogwarts.

Either apologize to the Dursleys and tell them that Sirius was just playing a bad joke and that he was actually innocent?

Ha rubbed his face against the sheets a few times, forcefully pushing the second thought out of his mind. Reconcile with the Dursleys?

The mere thought of it made Harry feel humiliated!

I should write a letter to Ron after Hedwig returns.

Ron had been suggesting that Harry ask Mr. Weasley to take him out of the house as soon as possible, but Harry felt he should keep his promise to Sirius and thus refused the tempting offer.

As dusk fell and the pink glow that filled the room gradually faded, darkness crept up from the corners and quietly took over the room.

Harry had no appetite. He tossed and turned in bed for a long time until he finally drifted off to sleep.

During this time, he thought he heard the Dursleys open the door, but Harry, feeling utterly exhausted, was too lazy to get up and check. He kept vaguely thinking about whether he should leave the Dursleys early; judging from the current situation, they couldn't be more eager for him to get out.

As the crescent moon hung high in the sky, Harry's agitation vanished, along with his inner turmoil. He suddenly heard indistinct voices, clearly not those of the Dursleys. Moreover, strange, fleeting images began to appear before his eyes.

Am I dreaming?

With only a sliver of reason left, Harry thought to himself that a strange urgency welled up inside him, wanting to see clearly what those swaying images meant. Surprisingly, when he had this thought, the images actually became clearer, but they were still swaying.

Harry, intending to kill time, focused on the images, and then his consciousness sank.

To be honest, Frank Bryce of Little Hangleton and Old John of the Shetland Islands do look quite alike!

Both of them were veterans who had survived the brutal war. Both of them had suffered physical injuries from the war. One spent his life guarding the now-obsolete Riddle House, while the other spent the rest of his life with a forgotten lighthouse. Moreover, their fates changed in July 94.

The weather has been pretty good lately, but the dampness in the soil still caused Frank's bad leg, which was already quite old and sensitive, to protest in the middle of the night.

Frank had been battling this bad leg for half his life, and he was quite adept at handling such situations.

He couldn't just endure it; he had to take some action.

The bright moonlight shone through the old windowpanes into the kitchen, which reeked of decay. Frank didn't find the scene beautiful; instead, he felt the moonlight was a bit too bright, making his eyes, which were recovering from the darkness, uncomfortable.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes as he got out of bed. Barefoot, Frank limped downstairs into the kitchen, wanting to fill a hot water bottle to warm his stiff knees. He stood by the sink, filling the kettle, and subconsciously looked up at the Riddle mansion he had guarded for half his life.

He saw a faint light shining from a window in a room on the second floor of the mansion, which looked somewhat desolate under the moonlight. Frank immediately realized that it was probably those restless little boys from the village causing him trouble again.

Although he hadn't been inside for many years, Frank still remembered the details of the house very clearly. He entered the large, cavernous kitchen through the back door, trying his best not to make a sound so that he could catch them red-handed later.

If Frank hadn't seen them with his own eyes, he could imagine that those unruly little boys would have accused him of having some kind of mental problem, just like the villagers would have.

Because of the large, straight floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides of the front door, there was some light in the corridor filled with the smell of decay, which made it easier for him to climb the stone steps covered with a thick layer of dust to the second floor.

On the landing, Frank turned right and immediately spotted the intruder. At the end of the corridor, a door was ajar, and a sliver of light shone through, casting an orange-yellow shadow on the dark floor.

Frank crept closer, sideways, his hand gripping the cane he'd prepared to use to whack the boys on the head. From a few steps from the doorway, he could see what was happening through a narrow crack in the room.

He saw it now: the flickering light in the window was from the fire in the fireplace, which surprised him, since the villagers didn't use fireplaces much at this time of year. He stopped and listened intently, only to hear a clear, melodious voice coming from under the door. It was calm, but the aging Frank, with his wealth of life experience, detected a hint of restrained disgust.

"Drink it quickly, Mr. Dark Lord, it won't keep for long—"

"Oh, thank you so much--"

The voice behind him belonged to a man. Although he was expressing his gratitude, his voice was strangely shrill, and there was no trace of thanks in his tone. Instead, it was as cold and piercing as a cold wind.

Frank had forgotten about the troublemaker. He instinctively approached the door and heard a gurgling sound. This cheerful sound reminded Frank of the time on the battlefield when he survived a difficult battle and drank beer with his comrades.